


in a blissful sigh as he falls asleep.

by bittertofu



Series: thirty-five ways he said 'i love you.' [25]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 06:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11099070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittertofu/pseuds/bittertofu
Summary: All the space between them would never be enough.





	in a blissful sigh as he falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> a series of drabbles.

It was Futaba who invited him to hang out at Leblanc the next time the group all gathered; Futaba who sat right next to him—between him and Akira, in fact, for which Akechi was grateful. Truly, the more distance between the two of them, the better. Seems he'd only needed to communicate that to Futaba once before she took it to heart. It would have made even more sense, Akechi thought, if she hadn't invited him at all. But it seemed she had her purposes for that, too; namely, to keep an even closer eye on Akechi than before.

Apparently, nobody else was in on this plan, because everyone else kept the same polite distance from him as before. Only Futaba, side-by-side with Akechi on the booth, was enthusiastic as she linked arms with him on one side and Akira on the other.

“Someone take a picture of us!” she demanded, pulling them both in closer. Considering her small size, both Akira and Akechi had to bend over awkwardly at the waist to be on her level. For a solid five seconds, no one really reacted. They only stared at the trio, eyebrows slightly raised. Then Yusuke shifted, uncrossed his arms, and reached for his cellphone.

“I'll take it,” he said, “but what's this for, all of the sudden?”

Yusuke prepared his camera, spent a moment trying to get the best angle of lighting for the shot. Meanwhile, Futaba answered, “Life is so short, ya know? I wanna capture this moment right here, right now, so we'll remember it forever.”

Futaba gave Akechi a meaningful look, almost a glare, and he felt his shoulders creeping up towards his ears. That look made him feel like he was about to betray them again, when that couldn't be farther from the case.

Makoto seemed to pick up on the nuance of Futaba's glare, too, because she straightened up in her seat, brows pinched.

“Smile!” said Futaba, just before Yusuke's camera flash went off.

Akechi wasn't sure if he was smiling or not, but he at least he wasn't frowning. Yusuke sent the photo to all three of their phones—Akira's, Akechi's, and Futaba's. Futaba opened it immediately and scrutinized it as if looking for some specific detail, some hidden feature only she could know. Apparently satisfied, she nodded and slipped her phone back into her pocket.

“Any particular reason this moment is so memorable?” Makoto asked.

Futaba looked up at Makoto from beneath her bangs, as though reluctant to answer. Makoto shifted her gaze from Futaba to Akechi and glared.

Akechi put his hands up in mock-surrender. “It's as much of a mystery to me as it is to you,” he confessed. “To be honest, I'm not even sure what I'm doing here.”

Ryuji snorted, said, “Glad I'm not the only one.”

Akechi's eyebrow twitched in annoyance. No, he had to remind himself, it wasn't Ryuji's fault. As far as Ryuji understood, he was protecting his teammates from a vaguely defined threat. That was all. Thus, Akechi elected not to respond to the jibe.

“He's here,” said Futaba, “because he's Akira's boyfriend.”

Akechi had just been taking a sip of his coffee, but he spit it all over the table the moment those words left Futaba's mouth. Futaba screeched and leaned away from him, burrowing into Akira's side. Yusuke, who was sitting directly across from Akechi, shot out of his seat. Makoto leaned sharply into Ryuji, who fell over into Ann's lap. Morgana leapt, yowling, into Haru's arms, while Haru blinked in surprise.

Akechi looked to Futaba and Akira, red-faced and horrified, going even redder when he saw the broad, easy smirk on Akira's lips.

Akechi stammered. “That's...!”

“That's right,” Akira said, nodding, staring Akechi dead in the eyes.

Akechi couldn't believe he was in this position again. He'd thought Futaba was on his side, but clearly he'd been naive. He had to rethink his strategy, fast. His mind ran circles around itself, groping wildly for something to say.

“ _Boyfriends_ is a little loaded, isn't it?” said Akechi, his mouth moving faster than his brain. “ _Lovers_ is probably more...”

He paused in horror as the realization of what he'd just said struck him. He wanted to die. He wanted the cafe ceiling to collapse on him, and only him, specifically.

All around the table, wide eyes reflected the mortification Akechi felt. Haru's fingertips covered her mouth in innocent surprise. Ryuji's mouth hung open. Yusuke's eyebrows may as well have disappeared into his hairline. Ann and Makoto looked at each other. Akechi couldn't even bring himself to look at Akira and Futaba.

Akechi slowly, very slowly, brought his hands up to his face. Leaned his elbows on the table. Couldn't decide whether to explode or melt into a puddle. He trembled in place, dreading the moment when he'd have to step back into reality.

No one said anything for what felt like way too long. Finally, to his right, Futaba shifted. Akechi didn't see it, but he could feel Futaba crawling under the table, knocking against his legs on her way to the other side of the booth. How she would even fit in between four other people, he had no idea. He didn't want to look up to find out. Even worse, he felt more movement beside him, and then an arm draped across his shoulders. Akechi shook his head fervently from side-to-side.

“I didn't say it,” Akechi muttered into his hands. “Please tell me I did not just say that.”

“Loud and clear, _lover_.”

Akechi stiffened even more. Whimpered quietly into his palms. He didn't want to look at Akira. He didn't want to look at anyone.

Someone cleared their throat; Makoto, if Akechi had to guess, since she was the one who spoke immediately after.

“Akira,” she said, carefully, as if reluctant. “Are you sure that's...that you and him...are a good idea?”

Akechi shook his head again. No, they were not a good idea. They never had been a good anything, idea or otherwise, and Akechi was trying and failing to make that very clear. Futaba had betrayed him. His own mouth had betrayed him. He was all alone in the world.

Beside him, Akira shrugged.

“Doesn't have to be a good idea,” said Akira, “does it? It is what it is.”

“I...I should really go,” Akechi murmured, making to extricate himself from Akira's casual embrace.

Akira only held him down tighter. Now that he could see again, he realized that Futaba had not actually crawled to the other side of the booth, but rather, she had exited the booth altogether and now stood beside Yusuke at the far right end. She grinned at him a knowing, mischievous grin. He responded by pouting at her, at which she snickered.

“I just think,” Makoto said, slowly, reasonably, “until we know what his motives are, we should be careful how we...interact with him. Especially you, Akira.”

“It's fine, it's fine,” said Futaba, waving a dismissive hand. “I keep track of him. He hasn't done anything suspicious for a good long while. If he veers off track, I'll be the first one to know. Not that he will,” she said, grinning wildly, “isn't that right? Go-ro~”

Please, god, Akechi thought, if you are there, smite me. Smite me right now.

Unlike before, god did not seem inclined to answer him today.

“I should really, really go,” Akechi tried again, and again, Akira gripped his shoulder even tighter.

“Don't,” said Futaba. “Stay. _We'll_ go, won't we guys?” She cast a meaningful look at the group. “Besides, I'm sure you and Akira have a lot to discuss, after a confession like that.”

Futaba nodded at Akira, who nodded back. Cold ran through Akechi's veins, lodging like an arrow in his gut.

“Tch,” said Ryuji, shaking his head. “Whatever, man. Your funeral.”

It very well might be Akira's funeral, thought Akechi, heart hammering, if he didn't do something to control this situation soon. Because no matter what, no matter how hard he fought it down, there was still that part of him that wondered why he didn't do the easy thing—kill Akira Kurusu and escape with his own life in tact.

There wasn't much he could think to do, though, once everyone started filing out of the booths and heading for the door. Makoto looked reluctant to leave, and Akechi wanted to beg her to stay, please stay, but even she, after shaking her head in apparent disappointment, left after the others.

Futaba was the last to go, sending a wink and a salute Akechi's way. Then the bell over the door rang for the final time, and Akira and Akechi were in Leblanc, alone.

“So,” Akira began, a smirk in his voice. “Lovers, huh?”

“Please don't talk to me,” Akechi said. “Don't look at me. In fact, I'm leaving right now.”

He yelped when Akira grabbed him, spun him around, and pinned him down against the booth cushion. He struggled only weakly, feeling, as always, all but helpless beneath Akira's body. Akechi cursed his own body for having its own damned wants. And what his body wanted, as usual, was Akira.

Akira leaned down to kiss him, but Akechi stubbornly closed his eyes and turned his head away. That didn't stop Akira for a moment. Akira planted kisses on Akechi's cheek, at the corner of his lips, trailed slow, wet kisses down his neck. Akechi kicked his legs a little, but that only served to let Akira slip a knee between them.

Akechi cursed himself, cursed Akira, cursed whatever god had been toying with them up to this point. It felt a little too much like fate, and a little too much like love, for him to want anything to do with any of it. Especially when Akira finally caught his mouth, kissed him with such tender desperation. Something deep inside of Akechi cried out for just this, cried out for more of whatever this was, even as his mind screamed at him to stop.

He shook free of Akira's kiss and gazed up at him with pleading eyes.

“Please,” he said quietly. “Don't.”

Akira studied him a moment, and Akechi hated the flush in his cheeks, the pounding of his heart. He hated the butterflies dancing whirls in his stomach. He especially hated the way he tilted his head, as if opening up for Akira to kiss him yet again. Akira didn't.

Without a word, he withdrew. Let Akechi sit back up and straighten out his disheveled clothing, pat down his frazzled hair. Even still Akira watched him, waiting. Always waiting. Akechi was sure that whatever it was Akira was waiting for, he wouldn't be able to give.

“I'm sorry,” Akechi said at last, whispered, really. “I can't.”

“Can't,” said Akira, “or won't?”

Akechi pursed his lips. Refused to meet Akira's gaze.

“I won't.”

Silence for the span of a slow heartbeat. Two. Four. Five.

Akira folded his arms across his chest. “That's that, then,” he said, and Akechi's throat constricted. “Go, if you want.”

Without looking up, Akechi quietly excused himself and stood from the booth. Shuffled his way over to the door. Before he could leave, though, Akira had one final thing to say.

“I'm not giving up. Not on you. Not on us.”

Akechi paused, gritting his teeth. He extended his arm and pushed his way out onto the street.

Masayoshi Shido's campaign car was out again, blasting propaganda. Election day tomorrow, it screamed. Go out and vote. Vote for Shido.

Akechi kept his head ducked the whole way home. Didn't want to look at anybody. Didn't want anybody to look at him. Didn't want anyone to recognize him, when he felt, from the inside out, so wholly unrecognizable.

It was for the best, he told himself, locking his door behind him. There could be no future for the two of them, not after tomorrow. Not even if Akechi had wanted one, which, he reminded himself firmly, he didn't.

Still, that didn't stop him from answering his phone when Akira called him later in the evening.

“...Hello?”

“I can't sleep,” Akira deadpanned. “Talk to me.”

Akechi sighed. Smiled faintly, despite himself. “You called me for something like that...?”

“I like it,” Akira said. “Your voice.”

Akechi laughed lightly into the speaker, tried to control the fluttering in his stomach at Akira's simple, forward nature. Or perhaps it wasn't so simple. Most likely, Akira knew exactly what he did to Akechi when he talked like that.

“I don't have anything to say,” Akechi admitted. “You'd be better off calling someone else.”

“I want you.”

Akechi switched his phone from one ear to the other. Ignored his shaking hands. Ignored, as much as possible, the ache in his chest.

“Why?” Akechi whispered, genuinely perplexed. “Why?”

Silence, and more silence. Enough time passed that Akechi wondered if Akira hadn't fallen asleep after all. He was about to hang up when Akira said, softly, “I love you.”

Akechi wondered how Akira could sound so sure about it, so at peace about it, when Akechi felt only turmoil, only confusion and sick, sick dread. His breath quickened. He had to sit down. No matter how many times Akira said it, no matter how many ways, Akechi could never wrap his head around just what it meant. Couldn't, and didn't want to. It would mean that even now, even after everything he'd already given up, he'd still have more and much more to lose.

“Stay with me,” Akira sighed across the line. “Until I fall asleep.”

“...Alright,” Akechi said, arranging himself cross-legged atop his futon. “Alright.”

He stayed on the line until Akira's breathing slowed, until it became even and deep. Even still he stayed on the line for at least another hour after, just listening. There was comfort in the sound of Akira's long, low breaths, comfort in the sound of his steady life.

That life _would_ end, and soon. So said a voice inside of him, a dark, cruel, callous thing.

Akechi bit down hard on his lower lip. Shook his head until the voice was only a murmur, a whisper, a wisp.

He wouldn't let that happen. He wouldn't. Akira would live long, fulfilling his multitude of potential. Or at least, he'd certainly get the chance to try. Akechi promised, promised he would make sure of that.

It wasn't much longer before he, too, fell asleep, the line between them still open, their quiet breaths meeting each other even across all the space between them.


End file.
